Caesar is Dead by Jack Lindsay (1934)

This is the second of the trilogy, and a much spicier read than the first. Where that one had long periods of grim sticking-with-it, this one travels at a fair tick. There were a couple of moments where I thought it had run a little thin on steam, but on the whole it was strongly involving. This section is the story of Caesar's murder and the reactions of the main senators, power-players and the populace to it; the striving to replace him, the adoration of him, the gladness among some that his influence was over, and the regret of his passing among others, exemplified in renewed economic chances, closed off possibilities, the political-hope-and-dream-machine having its character irremediably changed. There are a whole series of relationships at the core of the book, men and women of many castes and affiliations: Antonius and his searing wife Fulvia, Amos the young Jew and his love for an Egyptian maid Karni, Gallus the poet and his drunken fascination for the reciter Cytheris. Their matchings are trouble-laden, foolish, animalistic, often fated, but always rich. Lindsay's attitude to the depiction of these presumably reveals those he had toward men and women and their partnering across the board and all through time. This book has one notable failing: the author's attempt to match the facts with invented psychology. In trying to imagine why the main players did what they did when they did Lindsay struggles to find believable meaning. A good example is the initial rise of Octavianus, who seems suddenly to come to the fore when other players' efforts are unsuccessful. Even though all around are very well versed in who could possibly have a claim to the leadership and to Caesar's name and position, Lindsay avers that Octavianus had simply been forgotten about. That being the case doesn't really bear scrutiny psychologically. But this middle novel is lively, sensual, intensely coloured and deeply enjoyable.